


Marking The Moments

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Morning After, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson has a tattoo...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marking The Moments

John Watson has a tattoo, Sherlock notes with interest. He hadn't noticed it the night before; by the time shirts had been dispensed with, they were already negotiating the piles of books and paperwork littering Sherlock's room, and neither was inclined to break off from their exploration of each other to bother putting a light on.

But now, lying lazy and naked in Sherlock's bed, while John's no doubt pondering the depressingly _pedestrian_ questions that inevitably seem to accompany the morning after that particular type of night before, Sherlock is able to take the time to look at John's body - to observe.

John is aware of Sherlock's appraising gaze raking across his body. He squirms a little, not particularly uncomfortable- after all, he's lived with the constant observation and assessment for several months now - but neither is he completely immune. And anyway, he aches pleasantly in all the right places, and a little bit of a stretch feels good.

"Morning," John mumbles sleepily, grinning the way that only the well-shagged do, before burrowing his face back into the pillow.

Sherlock breaks off his study of John's back and shoulder to note that the man looks even more fuckable now, rumpled and sleepy, than he did last night. And he looked _so_ fuckable last night, taking down a random mugger with cold precision, moving from unassuming doctor in a slightly absurd jumper to efficient soldier and back again almost faster then even Sherlock could track.

"You have a tattoo."

John unburies his head, opening first one, then both eyes, smiles sleepily at Sherlock.

"I have three, if you want to be accurate."

"Three?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Show me."

"Find them yourself... carefully!"

Sherlock's eyes light up, and he immediately traces the tattoo on John's right upper arm with one finger.

"Royal Army Medical Corps badge, Approximately ten years old. Rod of Asclepius, crown, laurel wreath. 'In Arduis Fidelis'. Yes, steadfast in adversity does seem to be your forté."

John's dropped his face back into the pillow, and whatever it is that he's mumbling is muffled. Sherlock pokes none-too-gently at the shoulder with his tracing finger. John raises his head an inch or so.

"I said, a bit less adversity wouldn't go amiss sometimes. Anyway, that's not why I got it."

John looks ever so slightly uncomfortable, almost as if he's a embarrassed.

"Why did you get it?"

"You can't dedude? Did I really shag you senseless?"

Sherlock wonders for a second whether there is anything in this world greater than John's smile right at the moment, decides that there isn't and moves on.

"Assume for a moment that you did," and oh, there's that smile again, "why did you get the tattoo?"

John squirms again briefly. He's starkers in Sherlock's bed, a sheet barely covering his arse, and last night they shagged each other seven ways from Sunday, but this - this question - makes him feel naked.

"My tattoos are personal, Sherlock," he tries, knowing it will only buy him a few seconds. Sherlock regards other people's privacy as somewhere between inconsequential and _boring_. A raised eyebrow says it all. John sighs.

"I'd just passed out from Sandhurst. I was already a doctor, now I was an Army officer. I felt like I was home. I hadn't really felt like I had a place to call home since I started medical school, not least because I hadn't really wanted the home I had before that - and now, now I was home. But... it was more than that. It felt like... well, I felt like I'd been in limbo until then. Medical school had been a step, and I'd certainly done everything I could to make myself feel alive," another smile, this time slightly sad, slightly embarrassed, "but... this was the day I felt like I really started living. So I got a stupid tattoo, in a stupid place, and spent the next few years trying to hide it."

Sherlock is glad that the smile that accompanies the last sentence, whilst self-effacing, is not sad.

"And the other two?"

"Told you, you have to find them yourself." John grins and wriggles a bit, and now Sherlock's grinning too.

Ten rather pleasant minutes later, John's laying on his back, panting and groaning a little, wriggling and squirming a little more. Sherlock's established that John's remaining tattoos are not on his back, or his bum, or the back of his legs. He's spent more time than is strictly necessary to satisfy himself that neither of John's nipples are tattooed either. Now he focuses his attention on John's left shoulder.

"Scar tissue, but only on the front; the bullet penetrated but didn't exit. Scars from the resulting surgery. Possibly an infection afterward?"

John nods, not panting or wriggling any more.

Sherlock's finger moves from the scars to the numbers inked neatly underneath.

"20, 11, 2009. The day you were shot?"

Another small nod.

"You commemorated that day you were nearly killed." Sherlock's tone is carefully neutral, but the unspoken question is deafening to John.

"I commemorated the day I wasn't killed. The day I lived."

Sherlock leans forward, ghosts his lips over the scars, licks the tattoo. Spends a few moments becoming intimately acquainted with the area.

"I... approve."

"Of the tattoo, or of me living?"

Sherlock's response is a raised eyebrow, and a sharp nip at John's shoulder. John's caught between groaning and giggling, and Sherlock moves on, searching for the third tattoo.

Both men are feeling somewhat distracted by the time Sherlock homes in on the final tattoo, near John's right hip. Another string of text, letter as well as numbers this time, arranged in two rows.

"This one's much more recent than the other two. Careful work, must have hurt in that location, but there's no hint that you moved while it was being applied."

John shrugs.

"Pain's relative."

"29, 01, 2010 - 20, 10, 01... no, 2010, 01, 61528, HOM, 06"

Sherlock looks up at John. John looks at Sherlock, discomfort written all over his face.

"The day we met, and... the file number of that first case?"

A small nod. Sherlock thinks for a moment.

"That's..." Sherlock licks the tattoo, "brilliant."

John breathes out a sigh that was most definitely not relief. Locks eyes with Sherlock.

"My turn."

"John, I don't have any tattoos."

"I think that's for me to find out, don't you?"

And oh, there's that smile again.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in February 2011 for [this prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/4777.html?thread=14722473#t14722473): "John Watson has a tattoo."


End file.
